


Draft - Oh, goodie, I didn't die.

by notsafefortheworld



Category: Undertale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-08-23 08:00:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8320135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsafefortheworld/pseuds/notsafefortheworld
Summary: You've woken up somewhere unfamiliar - 'the Underground', you're told. And, according to the same lady, monsters are real and magic exists.Yeah, you're not buyin it. You've been fooled once too many times when you were a kid.Oh, and have I mentioned that you seem to be BLIND?





	1. In which you wake up somewhere unfamiliar

**Author's Note:**

> A rather short first chapter, but I felt like this was a good place to split it off, and I wanted to post something before my brain managed to screw it up. Questions, comments, and kudos are massively appreciated!

You wake up in an unfamiliar place. The first five minutes after rocketing into consciousness are spent trying to figure out where the _hell_ you are, because there is no way in fuck this is your bed.   
Or any other bed you're familiar with. Which begs the question of where you are.  
Now, normally. Once would be able to rely on their pre-unconscious memories to figure that out.   
Normally, pret-unconscious memories (for you, at least) don't seem like something you would experience on an acid trip, involving a cliff falling out from under you, the laws of physics _conventiently not working_ , and a talking goat lady.   
So, that's out, as far as _what the hell happened here_ information. Okay, current surroundings. Don't open your eyes, if you aren't alone you don't want them to notice you're awake. If your breathing and expression haven't already given it away, but who stares at sleeping people?  
You're... _probably_ alone in the room? You don't hear voices, traffic, the ocean, or....any other informationally-helpful sounds. Maybe you're in a hospital. The last thing you remember couldn't possibly have happened. Maybe you're in a _mental_ hospital. Ugh. That would be unfortunate.  
Or, you could be kidnapped. That might be worse, although the condescension, drugs, and general _people_ involved in being in an asylum make you wonder. At least if you're kidnapped, you aren't expected to be _nice_ to people.  
Unless it's some weird sex thing. _Please_ , don't let it be some weird sex thing. Although-who are you kidding? You wouldn't be kidnapped for that. You don't _look_ like that. So, probably not some weird sex thing? Good. That'd be unpleasant. Still doesn't mean you know where you are, but _that_ possibility is maybe 7%. (A statistic you made up just now because you felt the situation warranted it.) So. Mental hospital, or kidnapping? Or are you still hallucinating _now?_ Maybe you're just asleep.  
You're pretty sure you're not asleep. You've had vivid dreams before, of course, but it's....different. You shouldn't be able to feel the texture of the blanket you're under, the weight of it. Your mind shouldn't feel this.... _sharp_. More often than not, you're moving around in dreams. When you can remember them, that is. You aren't sure what happens when you can't (although, to be fair, you don't _often_ remember them.) You're _really_ , pretty sure this isn't you dreaming, and neither was the falling. So. Hallucination, most likely. It was (is?) too vivid to be elsewise.   
A kidnapping for ransom is _plausible_ , but highly unlikely. Your family is neither political nor money.   
You've about exhausted any plausible options after a few more minutes, and are kind of sick of running in circles. You need more information. If you're kidnapped, good, fine, at least you'll know and can start planning what to do.  
Which won't be much, 'cause you're not exactly a kung fu master.   
You'd still rather know. So, you open your eyes.  
All you can see is white. (No, light blue.) You let out a startled gargle-y sound, because _wholy fuck you're blind_  - and you get a snapshot image that you're _sure_ is what you were just looking up at - a _very_ light blue ceilling, with painted (darker blue) flowers. Beautiful.   
You have no idea where you are. Aaaand you're blind. (If the only way you can see is _that_ , you're screwed. You're so, _so_ screwed.)   
"O-oh! My child, you're awake!" Your head snaps to the voice, and you struggle to get out from underneath the blankets. A motherly 'tsk', and you still.  
"Here, let me help you with that." You're disentangled swiftly, the blankets pulled back so that you can move if you need to. You blink in their (her?) general direction, but before you can say anything,  
"I was beginning to worry. You've been asleep for several hours...rest is good! But, after a fall like that..." She trails off.  
You find your voice, though it sounds...pathetic.  
"Fall?" You clear your throat, swallow. You will _not_ make a fool of yourself....further.  
Hopefully. _Yeah, you will_. It's not even sardonic.   
There's a frown in her voice.  
"Do you not remember?" She sounds concerned and hopeful at the same time. You shake your head, swallowing again.  
"Um...the last thing I remember, I fell down a cliff, gravity stopped working properly, and a goat lady saved me? I'm pretty sure I got drugged by accident, o-or something. Maybe had a fever." There's a resigned chuckle.  
"No, my child. I'm afraid that rendition of events is correct. However, gravity worked just as it should; it was, in fact, my magic preventing you from falling too quickly." You take this in with a blink.  
"...Mm-magic?" It starts out as almost a hum, mostly out of confusion. Your eyebrows are drawn together in confusion, and your throat is dry. You don't want to ask for water, though, so you try to ignore it. You aren't sure how to respond, either, besides maybe changing the subject. Maybe you're _still_ hallucinating.  
"Um. S-so. Where am I?" You don't normally stutter, but this isn't exactly a _normal_ situation. You were in no way prepared for this. There's a quiet, humorless chuckle. It seems a little dark, given the circumstances.  
"Welcome to the Underground, my child. I'm afraid....this is your new home."


	2. In Which The Protagonist Isn't Sure What To Think, Besides That They'd Like A Glass Of Water.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The old lady who either abducted or saved (or both. Who says it can't be both?) you has a story to tell, and you're starting to get a little too involved.  
> Hell, you've always been a sucker for a good story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure about this chapter? Or if I'm writing Toriel's dialogue well. I also didn't want to just go from 'protagonist thinks something fishy is going on' to 'oh, look at the pretty flowers'. Then backstory happened.  
> Basically any feedback (as long as it isn't 'u suck lol') is wonderful! [That includes constructive criticism.]

"Welcome to the Underground, my child. I'm afraid....this is your new home."  _Kidnapping is starting to sound like a very scarily plausible theory_ , you think. Your expression apparently reflects this, because suddenly there's a large hand (with her weird-ass gloves) covering your own.  
"Do not worry, my child! I will take good care of you, I promise!" Why is  _she_ the one sounding like she's trying to hold back panic? You swallow, blink a few times. You realize you've been shaking your head, and it takes force of will to stop. Swallow again.  
"I...I can't stay here. I have to go home to my family. To my  _rats_. Hell, my  _dog_ is probably freaking the fuck out, a-and-" Your voice is breaking, so you stop speaking. Your throat hurts a little. You don't want to get imprisoned (or killed) by some crazy lady with a..... _whatever_ her deal is. She seems pretty stuck on the idea of you being a kid, which you had thought was just old-lady talk, but now you aren't so sure.    
 _Please don't let it be some weird sex/control thing_. You aren't sure which would be worse. The both of you have been sitting in tense silence for a few seconds.  
"....There  _is_ no way home," she tells you, and that certainly doesn't help you calm down. You struggle to keep your breathing even and inaudible. You don't need a panic attack right now. You don't. You can  _do_ this. Something like nostalgia is present in her voice, and it gives you a small amount of HOPE. Maybe she doesn't  _want_ to trap you - maybe she honestly  _thinks_ there's no way out. Maybe you can convince her otherwise. You take in a deep, shuddering breath, let it out slowly.  
"What do you mean?" Your voice is strained, almost cracking, but it's not higher than it should be, so you definitely count it as a win. Another moment or two without talking. The air is contemplative.  
"What do you know of the war between humans and monsters?" She asks. You aren't sure how to answer. Should you play along?  
...you decide to give a somewhat neutral answer.  
"...Nothing." You don't have the time to come up with better. It's suspicious enough that you took as long as you did, though suspicious of  _what_ you aren't sure. Oh, right. You still haven't decided whether to mention that  _you think she's crazy_  or not yet. Another small pause (they seem to be a staple of this conversation) during which she gathers her thoughts.  
"...I had hoped to wait until you were better-rested to tell you the story, if you did not know it, as Frisk did not. According to them, monsters have been relegated to mythology - in the eyes of humans, we exist only as stories of frightening beasts and terrible, wicked creatures." Another halt.  
"...They have told me our story is similar to a human event called 'the Holocaust'. Against my better judgement, I...told them more of our history than I should, given their age. Frisk is a very strong child. They have not told me much, but I get the impression....that their life thus far has not been easy." She takes a breath.  
"Many, many years ago, humans and monsters lived on the surface of this world in relative peace. There were conflicts, of course, as I am told there still are. It seems that aspect of humanity has not changed." Her voice is grim. You're...more than a little interested to hear her story, even if it isn't real. Even if you really should be getting home,  _right now_.  
"Our species thrived with each other. Humans were stronger than we were - being made mostly of physical matter, they had  _always_ been stronger. It was a cause of some misfortune; monsters were nearly defenseless against them. We still are - though, as you might imagine, being Underground, that is not so much a problem as it might be otherwise." She seems to be working up to something  _very not good_. If it's likenable to  _the Holocaust_ , and she's not just exaggerating... You hear her take a steadying breath.  
"Monsters provided magic. Healing, farming, building - the things that humans were not as adept at. In return, humans lent their adaptability and will to survive. Their  _determination_. It was a symbiotic bond." She seems to be reaching the peak of the story.  
"Then one day, a child was born. A child who was neither monster, nor human. Nor...the  _other_ species that roamed this world at the time. They were a child born of human parent...and a monster one." A minute break.  
"There was outrage. Humans were terrified - and to this day, I still do not quite understand  _why_. They claimed to be afraid of losing humanity to monsters. It was not the first quarrel between our people, nor would it be the last. But it was a spark. And humans can be so, so volatile." There's silence.  
"For decades after, there was unease. Murmurs of anti-monster politics, hate groups,  _movements_  - fear was prevalent. On both sides of the conflict. But those that stepped forward were small, ineffective. They were easily stopped - but not without a cost. Monsters had had to use magic to defend themselves before - against other monsters, very rarely. It was more commonly used to defend against humans - our only advantage. It had been subject to much debate before, but now it was fuel to the fire. And the fire burned, strongly.  The small groups that were stopped were merely distractions- sycophants. There was a more... _insidious_ group, whom some of them answered to." A lull, as she gathers herself.  
"They worked from the shadows - pulling strings, buying allegiances... We didn't know of them until  _too late_." There's grief in her voice. More time trickles past, like sand. When she speaks again, there's a kind of ancient rage that only comes from personal tragedy. Her manner simmers.  
"...Many died. We were _defenseless_ against a sudden attack by those we had thought our _allies_. Hybrid children were  _slaughtered_ , families burned in their homes, or at the stake. We had no hope. No chance of survival. Our entire world was crumbling around us."   
Your listen raptly, her anger enthralling. You almost want to comfort her, but don't want to break her out of this story-telling trance. Her voice quiets.  
"...It seemed as though many months passed in a single day. Monsters were rounded up and herded together, like sheep before a slaughter. There was so much dust..." Dust? It's odd, the details that stick. You forget that you don't believe her for a second, before shaking your head and returning to listening.  
"But we were not driven together to be killed. No. Humans wanted to  _send us back where we were from_ ," she quotes, and you can hear the old, worn-out fury tangling with the panic, the outrage, the betrayal.  
"They called us _demons_. They called us  _dangerous_. In the end, they forced us underground easily enough, as well as finding seven _human mages_ who were willing, and able, to cast a spell that would create a barrier, locking us Underground until we died out, or....collected seven human souls, and used them to break it. The last we were told because those sentencing us to such a fate were so confident no human would ever be  _stupid_ enough to venture near our prison." She sounds hopeless. She sounds... _sad_ is not an adequate descriptor.  
"We were betrayed by our own children and grandchildren. And for what?" The atmosphere is thick with unsaid words and foul emotion.  
"....We have collected six souls, and all of them have been children. We have become the demons they called us, the price of our freedom. But what will happen when we finally have the seventh? When we venture aboveground once more? Will humans subject us to another genocide?" She chuckles, and it's the darkest laugh you think you've ever heard.  
"Worse, do we not  _deserve it?_ We have  _killed_ six human children, all for our precious _freedom_!" There's a loud bang, and you jump back with a high-pitched noise. Her labored breathing is heavy in the otherwise quiet room. You hold your own, heart hammering and adrenaline spiking.  
"....Forgive me, my child. Some wounds run deep, and...even time has not healed them.  _Can_ not heal them. Asena knows we've had lots of it, under this forsaken mountain.." You think you manage to keep your hands from shaking. She must not have been looking at you before, because you hear a shocked inhalation.  
"O-oh, my child, please, accept my apologies. I did not mean to frighten you. I would not harm you. Please do not be afraid." You swallow. You're not doing so good at the whole 'keeping your hands from shaking' thing, and it seems to have spread to the rest of your body. You feel her reach out, and wince reflexively. She pulls back, and you  _taste_ the remorse in the air.  
You don't want her to be upset (crazy or not. You aren't a monster.)   
You manage to choke out a request for some time alone. She manages to acquiese, but you barely hear her (except her voice is so loud, even when competing with all the shouting in your head) in the otherwise silent room.  
Her steps click as she walks away. You're barely able to wait until the door shuts to curl up around yourself and start hyperventilating.


	3. In Which You Have A Panic Attack, Lucky You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've read over this too many times. It is now illegible mush.  
> Critique /highly/ welcome!

_God_ you hate panic attacks you hate them you hate them you hate them. You hate losing  _control_ of yourself, of falling to pieces in front of other people, of...you clutch your head, but straighten out your back so you can breath better. You don't want to pass out.   
You can only trust that she'll knock before coming back in, so that you have time to compose yourself. She seems like the polite type.  
 _You don't need to be afraid. This is all probably one big misunderstanding..._ (You don't really  _believe_ it, but you need  _something_ to calm yourself down.)  _She's not...she's probably not going to hurt you.  
She's given no indication of wanting to. It's okay. It's okay. Breathe. Just breathe. Just focus on breathing, you can worry about the future and your impending doom later_. That makes you bite out an airless little snort-chuckle. You recycle similar mantras at yourself until you can unhook your fingernails from your arms (because the pain helps distract you helps ground you helps you  _breathe_ ) and it feels  _a little less_ like you're going to suffocate, feels a bit less like there isn't enough room for your lungs in your chest.  
....Thank  _god_ it wasn't a full-blown panic attack, or it would have taken you  _hours_ to calm down. Your heart is still racing, and you're on high alert while feeling worn out, but it's a little better, now.   
You aren't sure what to think of her story. It's a good distraction from the remaining anxiety laced through your veins.   
It really is a dead-ringer for the Holocaust. A group of people - would they count as people, dictionary-wise? Because you've looked it up, and the word  _human_ is in the definition.   
You don't think that's the intent of the word, though. - shunned, many of them  _killed_ , and then forced out of their home to a place where they might not survive. The parallel is undeniable.  
....it's terrible that you think it's a cool story. Because even though she must be psychotic, this person clearly  _believes_ it, and has been living believing it for...who knows how long. Why isn't she in an institution?  
You also don't know much about hallucinations, but you're beginning to seriously doubt that this is one. You're fairly certain they're supposed to be more like dreams - spontaneous, zany things with seemingly-unconnected events and objects - than something out of a movie's plot. Still, there're her ha-gloves. Her gloves, and her...novelty slippers.  
It's not even that you're  _against_ the concept of monsters, it's just that it's so  _ludicrously insane_ that you don't want to be fooled. You wouldn't put it past someone to pull a prank like this, though why on  _you, specifically_ ,you have no idea.   
Maybe you should ask for more proof, when she comes back. (Who the hell are you kidding....this would be simultaneously the most interesting and possibly worst thing to ever happen to you. On the one hand, trapped underground with a bunch of people who have every reason to hate you. On the other, whole new species to learn about and fucking  _magic_. You wonder if there are different 'types'. How, exactly, it works.)  
....you've always been something of a dreamer. Oh, well. If you're gonna fall down the rabbit hole, might as well enjoy the trip.   
You find the floor with your feet, and stretch them before standing. You'd rather not fall over, thanks. ...It's so disconcerting, being  _blind_. Of course, you can still see the  _other_ way, but that's not quite. As reliable, in some manners. See Exibit 'what the fuck is going on here' A.   
  
Okay.... _drat_. You haven't used this form of sight for a long,  _long_ time. You hold your hands out somewhat so that, at least if you bump into something, it won't be with your face.  
Hopefully. Yeah, you're not gonna hold out on that.   
Mostly, you just don't want to sit here by yourself, with your thoughts. The inside of your own head can be a pretty hazardous place.   
You successfully navigate to the door. It's...you can  _see_ better this way than you remember being able to. Not that it's...well...it's more like a subconscious sonar. You  _know_ where things are, and you don't bump into them.   
It's a lot... _clearer_ , than you remember it being? You don't recall being able to 'see' this well.   
Maybe it's because now you have no other choice.   
That's probably it. You reach for the door handle, half-holding your breath. It turns complaintlessly, and you huff out an exhalation in your surprise. Is it just you, or is the knob bigger than it should be? There seems to be a pattern to that.   
You don't have to step back; the door swings outward at your push, and you're in a hallway that screams  _yellow_. Well, more like politely demands attention for the fact that it is, indeed,  _extremely_ like one half of a bumblebee's behind. Okay....left, or right?   
...You've always been partial to left.   
Another door - it's closed, though, and you don't want to snoop. That'd be seriously rude. If you run into all dead-ends,  _then_ you can open a door. Chances are that won't happen. That'd be kind of weird architecture.   
Naturally, you run into a dead end. Oooooof course. Something shiny catches your....not-eye. There's a mirror on the wall, you puzzle out. Alright. Puzzle soved.  
You turn around and head the other way. Past the closed door, past the door you came out of (which  _you_  closed), and  _another_ closed door. How big is this house? Have you accidentally stumbled upon a  _rich person?  
_...you hope not. You don't even know your salad fork from your meal fork. Er. Main course stabbing utensil? It's from outward, in, right?  
Oh, what does it matter. You'll just be a charming bumpkin, as usual. That settled, you start onward again.   
Everything is suddenly  _beige_. Well, light brown. You don't really like the word beige, and this is a nice color. Not annoying, at least. You pause atthe entryway to scan the room. There's an alcove partway into the room - it could be an  _actual_ alcove, or it could be a doorway, or something. Railing and something papery off to the right. The floor falls out that way, too. Either it's some sort of house-trap, or those are stairs.   
You move further into the room; yes, it is a door to the left. You don't want to chance going down stairs - what if you fall? You continue forward into the next room, pausing once again at the entryway.  
A crackling fire is audible, but something about it seems off. You can't place what, exactly. There's an amassment of energy -   
"Hello?" You call out tentatively. A startled (familiar) voice greets you.  
"Oh! My child, I did not hear you come in!" There's the sound that you think might be a book closing. She stands, and you're glad you're across the room. You hadn't exactly been in the state to notice previously, but she is  _huge_. You're....five-foot something. Not tall, but not  _short_.   
Compared to her, you are  _tiny_.  
She moves across the room to slide the book onto a shelf, before turning to face you.   
The way your conversation ended abruptly comes to mind, and you wince a little. You didn't make the best impression.   
Maybe you can start over, though? You sincerely doubt she has any intention of hurting you; if she wanted to, she could have done so by now, or when you were asleep. It could be a long game, but you...don't think so. It still feels like she's hiding something from you, but she's not  _malicious_. You're convinced of that. She didn't mean to scare you.  
You're still jumpy, but that's because she's  _big_ and if you're  _wrong_ , it could go  _very badly_.  
But you try to trust your instincts while remaining cautious and polite. You realize she's... _fidgeting_ doesn't seem quite right, but moving nervously, seeming apologetic. Her voice is soft.  
"I am quite sorry for frightening you, my child. I let my temper get away with me. Please, please understand that I would not harm you." You blink, slowly, then nod. You speak thoughtfully.  
"Of course. My apologies for worrying you; I have....issues, with sound, and with...well. I haven't had the best experiences. I'm sorry for...upsetting you. No hard feelings?" You ask hopefully, peeking up at her.  
She's massively relieved as well as slightly surprised.  
"Thank you, my child." You don't like being this tense. You just nod, attempting a sort-of smile of your own. She claps lightly.  
"Frisk will be home soon; I hope that is alright. They wish to meet you." You blink, unsure how to procede.  
"Naturally." Oooooh, great. Now you sound like a stuck up ass.  
Well, you kind of are a stuck up ass, but you try not to be. And you didn't mean it like  _that_. You'd meant it as assent. Oh well.   
She seems pleased anyway.


	4. In Which You Realize You're (Probably) In Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jumping right into it, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critiques, comments, and questions are welcome (and encouraged)!   
> (Even if it's just a comment saying 'hey, I read this.') Thank you everyone who's read, commented, or left kudos so far!

The next few minutes are spent eating cinnamon-butterscotch pie (which is surprisingly good, considering you don't particularly like either flavor - though, if you had to choose, butterscotch would win hands down) awkwardly, because you tend not to like eating in front of people you don't know well.  
At the very least, you're pretty sure it's not poisoned - there's a small chance it is, of course, especially given all of the unknown variables, but your instincts (muddled as they are through the clamoring of our anxieties) tell you she doesn't have any malicious intent towards you.  
Your first impressions of people tend to be right.  
That doesn't make it much easier to swallow, your mouth dry and throat clenched.  
She offers you a glass of water, which you thankfully accept, smile tight, with a nod.   
She's careful to move audibly. You find that strange for some reason, before she returns with (presumably, a glass of water) and sets it in front of you, not too far into your personal space.  
"Why did you not tell me you are blind, my child?" Her voice is soft, unnaccusatory.  
You freeze.  
You _didn't_ tell her you were blind.  
It's rather obvious, with the stilted way you move and the fact that half the time your eyes are closed, just because it's disorienting to have them _open_ and not _see_ anything. You carefully set the fork down (and misjudge the distance; it clatters loudly, wringing a wince from you) and delicately remove your hand from the table, twisting your fingers together in your lap just hard enough that your tendons groan in protest.  
She's waiting, patiently, presumably, but you don't want her to think you're ignoring her.  
"It's, uhm...a new issue." You manage to murmur, just loud enough for you to hear. You wince again at that, repeat yourself more loudly.  
You don't like talking, often enough. It's complicated and difficult and your voice often conveys meanings that _you_ don't.  
"I don't. Uhm. I'm not supposed to be _blind_. It's not a normal thing." A beat, wherein you feel the need to elaborate.  
"I mean, my eyes don't. Hurt. Or anything. And I was, uh..kind of..a bit distracted, to, uhm, mention it." By the other, also very concerning, things going on.  
Her air immediately shifts, tone becoming no-nonsense. There's an odd feeling that you can't quite describe - being... _observed_  doesn't even seem like the right - and it's not uncomfortable, in and of itself, but the scrutiny makes you squirm because it's not...like someone _staring_ at you. It's....  
...you don't know how to verbalize it.  
"How long has this been going on?" Her tone is brusque in a way that doesn't make you tense - businesslike. You focus on it instead of the strange sensation.  
"Uhm...since I woke up, at least. I think it _started_ when I was...falling.." Your voice grows quieter.  
There's no way you actually fell that far. You would have _died_. (But the memory is there, the sheer panic and numb awareness that you were going to   _g o    s p l a t_. And then you _didn't_.  
Aaand then you passed out.)  
You're ripped out of your thoughts.  
"Follow my claw," she orders. Uhm..?  
She exhales, slowly, tensely.  
"I do not understand, my child. Your HP is maxed. Your eyes appear to function perfectly..." You feel an internal stutter. Does she think you're lying?  
"...must be impeding.." Is all you can make out. (Hope raises its head slightly from inside your abdomen, small fingers linking through your ribcage as it stares out earnestly, face half-hidden by its bangs.)   
You hear a door open, head turning automatically. It closes softly. She snaps out of clinician mode into a more personable demeanor.  
"Frisk, my child! We are in the hearthroom!" She calls. There's no response. Isn't that a bit rude? It doesn't even give her pause.  
A _damaged_ person enters the room. You still. (You had to keep yourself from reaching out to them, offering condolence - people do not take kindly to that.)  
You instead try not to stare very hard.  
They freeze.  
* _They can see SOULs?_ Your head feels strange, like there's too much air pressing against your forehead from the inside - not painful, but disorienting. Strange. It disappears after a few seconds. (You school your expression best you can into something neutral, which probably looks more like a grimace.)  
There's quiet. Then:  
"I do not know, my child. You should ask them directly." There's the barest tone of gentle chiding in the last sentence. (And the barest flicker, gone so quickly you aren't sure you saw it, in that spider-webbed, dark red figure.)  
They approach inaudibly. You follow their movement easily; they aren't _bright_ , but they're...strong. Intense. Present. You've never seen someone look like this, with their color _staining_ their whole body. It doesn't just _cover_ them, like a fabric overlay; it seeps _through_ them, bright red the deeper you go. There's _hurt_ and _pain_ and -you stop yourself from looking deeper.  
You're not actually seeing anything, of course (it's your imagination, odds to ends) but it's rude to even _imagine_ looking into someone's...self.  
And you've been quite rude. You purse your mouth guiltily, 'glancing' up. You push back the chair carefully (it would be _perfect_ to stumble right now) and turn, smiling apologetically once you've stepped out from behind it.  
They stand, frozen.  
A small hand covers the center of their being, which flares red (and gold, or yellow - both, maybe) -you avert your gaze politely, turning your head away. It's difficult not to look - you aren't sure how _not_ to; they're practically an open book. Why hasn't anyone shown them how to ward themself..?  
You dim your eyes. You're nearly blind, now, but that's okay. It'll make them more comfortable. Smile apologetically.  
"Hi. I heard you're Frisk?" Friendly, bobbing words - bright, naive, hopeful, timid.  
Indicating you mean no harm (hoping you cause none).  
...Damn, but you don't like being blind.  
You startle, jerking away when something brushes your sleeve. Your shoulder colllides sharply with the edge of the chair, and you hiss and clutch it, tears pricking out of instinct. A babbled burst of worry.  
You don't allow anything to spill from yourself (when you're hurt, you hurt - so you don't interact) until the dustdevil whirlwind of your spite has calmed. You bite out an apologetic smile.  
"Uh, um, s-sorry about that. I'm not so good with surprises. Or being touched." You add hastily, as a note, because it's important.  
Your vision must have adjusted, a little; you feel them draw back, a bit (though you can only see their upper body, somewhat - and.. are they purple? Why is there - they look all _purple_. Except is or isn't it them..? It makes your head spin trying to understand.) You shake your head to clear it, expression apologetic.  
"Sorry. Did you say something? I-I wasn't ignoring you, I swear." Just trying to get used to _seeing_ again.  
* _...Do you see SOULs?_ Their tone is flat, but not in an impolite way. How old is this person?  
You consider carefully, tilting your head to indicate thought, for a few moments.  
"I suppose...I don't know. Probably not. Nobody really knows if souls exist." Something niggles - are you talking about the same thing?   
A headshake from them.  
* _No. Not souls. SOULs_. Blink. You scratch the back of your head, completely lost.  
"Um..." You glance at the woman for help, hoping she'll get them to back off. You have no idea what they're talking about, but it's clearly important.  
"My apologies. I forgot you were not raised in...they do not believe in SOULs, my child." You feel a twinge of 'waitaminute', because you didn't say you didn't _believe_ it (although that was the impression you'd been trying to give) - you just want _proof_! This whole thing is nuts!  
...You're feeling off-balance, internally. Jittery. You take a deep breath, quietly.  
It occurs to you, finally, what the _hell_ is so off about this.  
"Y-you! You talked without talking!" You don't point, because a) you don't know where they are, vision the way it is, b) see point a - for all you know, you could whack them by accident, and c) you've heard pointing is rude.  
* _You see without seeing_. They're on edge. You're on edge because they're on edge.  
The woman clears her throat.  
"My children, I believe it would be best if we all calmed down." Yes, it _would_ , but how's _that_ gonna happen?  
You're staring. Well, 'staring'. Your 'gaze' snaps to the woman.  
"You...can hear them, right? I'm not..going crazy?" Your voice wavers jokingly on the last bit, as if not really asking. (Crazier than you are, anyway.)  
You hear her frown.  
"Of course you are not going 'crazy', young one. It is perfectly naturally to be stressed in such a situation, and of course I can hear Frisk." Your heartrate settles a bit.  
Frisk draws closer, and you wince just the slightest. They stop. (You aren't _afraid_ of them - but they're very... _intense_. Almost aggressive.)  
* _You were looking at my SOUL_. Your expression is scrunched.  
"I-I don't?" Know what that means? Understand half of what's going on?  
They draw closer again.  
* _You shouldn't look at people's SOULs without their permission_.  
"My child!" The woman snaps. Immediately, their demeanor changes, slumping into - almost a completely different person. There's a wash of green that lingers from the inside out.  
You aren't _trying_ to look at them.  
But something about them sets you off, makes you curious and worried. You want to know more.  
About them, about you.  
Mostly, right now, you want to hide somewhere no one can see your face so you don't have to wear a mask.  
You want to wear a mask so no one can see your face, so you don't have to _make_ a mask.  
They step back, slowly.  
Then flee, footsteps silent. The woman sighs.  
"I apologize for them. They can be...unbalanced, sometimes. They have had a difficult life. Please do not take anything they say personally." She makes as if to move towards you, thinks better of it (you don't even wince, realize after she stops that that's what she was afraid you would do, _why_ she stopped, and feel bad)  
You nod, unsure what else to do.  
"I'm sorry I....upset them. I didn't mean to...look at their SOUL?" You say questioningly. She sighs understandingly. The air in the room is suddenly much more comfortable.  
"I understand you are having a hard time processing this. Much has happened in a very short time." Only the briefest pause.  
"And it would be difficult not to look at someone's SOUL, when that is the way you see. I understand. It must have been difficult to look away - SOULs are very beautiful." Not the word that came to mind (but not wrong). Nor would you have called the encompassing, cracked _aura_ a SOUL.   
You don't know much about soul theology, but are pretty sure auras and souls are supposed to be related, but different.  
(Something instinctual, in the back of your mind, tells you that you _did_ see part of their SOUL - maybe. But you had only a glimpse of it through their aura, which was far more twisted. You'd think the two woluld match more.)  
You nod slightly, emptily.  
It's too much to process. You're letting your imagination run away with you again - dangerous. Dangerous enough normally, but in a situation like this, where you can't count on other people to tell you which way is up and what color red, it may be positively foolhardy to let yourself get sucked in. Says the person who's already _been_ sucked in.   
(You've already damned yourself, indicating things that don't exist and acting on half-buried _not_ -memories.)  
She sighs.  
"Would you like to finish your pie, young one?" It's a clear, kind redirection. You start a bit in surprise at her voice.  
"Oh, um, yes."  
...It's really good.  
...You feel really bad for upsetting that kid. You think they're a kid - but they feel... _different_. They don't feel _right_. (They aren't _wrong_ , either - not twisted and bad - but they aren't the way they _should_ be, necessarily, maybe even besides being broken...? You were trying too hard not to look to see.)  
You shake your head. You're being ridic- absurd. You're being absurd.  
(If you get sucked into something like this again, you'll regret it.)  
(You've been lied to before, after all.)  
Your head is tilted down as you eat. You really made that kid upset. Worse, you don't know how to fix it or avoid it. (You have to admit - you _have_ to - that the way you've been getting around...well, you aren't just _blind_ , like you're half-pretending. You can see, the same way you could as a kid - but back then, you needed a receiver. Someone to confirm. You don't, now, apparently.  
You certainly haven't crashed into any walls.)  
The woman clears her throat, polite without being stiff.  
"I made up a room for you, young one. If you require solitude." You're blank for a few seconds, unmoving. Then:  
"..Thank you. I much appreciate it." You aren't nearly done with the pie, but you don't think you deserve good food at the moment anyway. She chuckles as you stand.  
"Would you like me to show you to it, young one? It is the door farthest down the hall." Your head tilts as you consider.  
"...No, thank you. I think I can manage," but you smile at her gratefully, sincerely, anyway. She smiles back. You glance down at your plate.  
"Oh. Um. What should I do with my...?" Wait, you don't want to _waste_ it."  
"I'll wrap it up for later." She waits until you're out of the way (you practically scramble to do so out of politeness) to pick it up.   
You aren't sure how to end this interaction. She pauses at the doorway to probably a kitchen.  
"Did you need something, my child?"  
"N-no, uh...just. Thank you." She relaxes slightly from her worriedness.  
"Think nothing of it, young one. Anyone would do the same." With that, she moves into the other room, though her movements are still audible.  
You make your way back through the house, but it's a little harder this time.  
You're not used to focusing this much, for this long (haven't done it in so long) - and you bump into something, which knocks into another something, and you let out a yelp, desperately flailing to catch the first something.  
Of course, it had already almost balanced itself, but you nearly upset it trying to fix it. You stay stock still for a few seconds, heart pounding, just to be sure you aren't going to mess up something _else,_ before slowly backing up.  
You probably mucked whatever it was up. Great. Do you go back and apologize to her, or..(she'd definitely tell you not to worry, but the thought of admitting you fucked up makes your nerves sing like harpstrings, taught and shriller than they should be)  
A door opens behind you, and you nearly bump back into the thing you almost knocked over before jump-stepping sideways and then turning.  
"Oh, u-um, hi." Silence. You avert your eyes.  
They shine even though you aren't looking (because you aren't), a silvery-green in their chest but reaching out.  
You're startled.  
* _Here. Let me help_. A small hand takes yours.  
You're very, very confused. They don't like you?! You're pretty sure?! So why!? They start to pull you in the right direction.  
"N-no, wait, I-" they stop, looking over their shoulder at you. You point a thumb the other way (fake it til you make it).  
"I hafta fix a thing. I think I might've knocked something off...well. Messed it up." They let go of your hand.  
"Thanks." You smile at them strainedly (because it's polite) and turn back.  
A flash; just a flash, but that's all you need.  
There's a plantpot on top of a table, with a red flower. You moved it off-center. Carefully, you fix it. The ceramic feels solid and cool under your touch (how is a plant thriving away from natural light? They can live, but aren't normally so _healthy_. Despite yellow leaves, it gives off a happy sort of thrum.)  
Out of politeness, you don't check the soil or prune it (which is something you tend to do. A lot.) You turn back to Frisk.  
"U-um, I think I can-" they hold out a hand for you, resolute.  
You see no point (or likelihood of winning) to arguing.  
"Right." You take their hand, and they tug you along. You're surprised by that, a bit.  
You're more surprised when they unhesitantly pull the door open and drag you inside, dropping your hand only to clamber up onto a _wow_ that's a big bed you get to sleep here? Damn. You blink, just standing there.  
"Um. Oh. Kay? I guess you want to talk?" They nod, then pat the space beside them.  
You can't help it. You laugh. (It's charming, the way they can convey meaning without speaking. Admirable, even.)  
"Okay, kid. You got a way with words." You climb up, leaving a good amount of space between the two of you. Glance around then scoot until your back is at the wall. Ah, good.  
They give you a raised eyebrow that could only mean 'are you quite done'. You work to keep from laughing.  
"Yeah, yeah. Tell me what ya want, kid, so I can go back to freaking out over how my worldview is crumbling." Woops. You hadn't quite meant to say that.  
They frown, though not at the rudeness.  
* _Do you still not believe monsters are real?_ A beat, then you exhale.  
You'll answer honestly, of course. You don't like lying in the first place, unless it's for a good reason.  
"No. Maybe. I don't know."  
* _Magic?_ You bark a laugh.  
" _Definitely_ no on that one, sugarplumb." You cover your mouth, surprised.  
"Sorry, that's a rude nickname. It popped out because it rhymed; won't use it again." They're shaking their head, smiling slightly in a way you take to mean they don't mind. A tiny smile tugs at your mouth. You huff out a breath through your nose.  
"Well. Anyway. I mean, obviously, I'm doing some weird extrasensory shiiiiiiiite, wait, no, that's still a swearword, hold on, I can still salvage this!!" They're holding their hands over hteir mouth in silent laughter.  
"Shitakke! It's a mushroom!" You exclaim (though admittedly without _too_ much energy) triumphantly. They snort, nodding. You swallow, turn your eyes elsewhere.  
"Anyway. Yeah. But I've been doing that stuff my whole life. Just...a little less precisely. 'Astral projection', and stuff like that - it's fun, believe me. The things you can do..." You trail off, then shake your head.  
"But, that's not magic. It's probably also my imagination or some shi-itake mushrooms on that bit, or whatever." They give you an unimpressed look.  
"Yeah, I know kid. Hey, I've been trying to avoid the looney bin for shit like this since I was like eight, give me a break." They give you a strange look. You shrug.  
"Not like people were trying to throw me in there, just...you hear things. People are always calling Natives crazy, saying spirits aren't real - all that fun crap. Crap isn't a swear word. Bite me." You say cheekily. They grin the same way, though with less pretend edge.  
"Anyway, that's how I was raised. Native. At least, some of it. I've forgotten a lot.." You mourn that, and you do wish you'd been raised more traiditionally - or _knowing_ more of them, at least.  
"And that's where that stuff came in. But, monsters?" You exhale, slowly, shaking your head.  
"I don't know. I mean, I felt her paw - there's...there was no way that was CGI or something, it's not like I could see it. And if it was a costume, even if it had been real fur and such, it wouldn't have been so _warm_." You frown, headshaking again.  
"I dunno. I guess I kind have to. Which leaves the fact that now I'm trapped underground with a bunch of people that want to kill me. Justifiably, of course." You see movement, and look up. They sign something - you hear it differently than if they spoke directly. It's more the _idea_ than the _words_. They ask if they can hug you/if you would like one. (They would have pounced, except they were respecting your space.) You hesitate. Sigh, shoulders slump.  
"Yeah, sure. C'mere, kid." They launch themself at you.  
They tell you it will be okay. You chuckle half-heartedly.  
"Sure. I mean, it could. Seems unlikely, but _you're_ still here. What _I'm_ most concerned about is all these people. How are they _living?_ We're underground. There's no sunlight. How is _food_ even grown? What about the stability of the...I mean, I'm not sure tunnels is the right word. 'Caves'? Maybe." Another more cheerful chuckle.  
"And so many _questions_. Gosh, I have so many questions. I'm gonna need to write-" You look down.  
"Oh. Right..." You...can't see. You can't read, or write, anymore. Can you. (There's still hope.) You push it aside for now, that echoing thought.  
A small tug catches your attention. They've disentangled themself, but are sitting in front of you, legs under them.  
* _Don't be sad_. You smile at them, slightly. Reach out a hand, then hesitate -but they don't move- and ruffle their hair.  
"I'm not, Friskles. Is it okay to call you that? It sounds like skittles mixed with friskies and frankly, that is the combination of two things that I find theoretically very amusing. I mean, not because I particularly _like_ either of them, but phonetically! I mean, just say it with me! Friskies! Skittles! _Who comes up with these names?!_ " They're laughing hard, arms around their stomach as they shake silently.   
You refrain from poking them.  
"So, hey. What's up with that. If it's okay for me to ask. Oh, and you can ask me anything. As long as you're not being a buttwipe, I'm not gonna get offended. Well, I might refuse to answer, but I won't be offended. But I don't think you're really _capable_ of being a buttwipe." They huff at that, amused.  
They ask what you're asking.  
"Oh. Can you not talk? Or do you just prefer not to? Like I said, you really _don't_ have to tell me. But I like to get the elephants in the room out of the way, if you know what I mean." You wouldn't have even asked, because it could be painful, and it's private, but it popped out before you could really think to stop it.  
The're frowning, very slightly.  
* _I can talk. I just don't like to. It doesn't feel right. Sometimes talking like_ this _doesn't feel right, either_. They pause, gauging your reaction.  
You blink.  
"Huh. Well, you're not alone there. There are days I wish I could just go without talking. You're a lot better at getting your meaning across than I am, though." They frown and you they express something like 'it's not the same', obviously unintentionally.  
You're a little frustrated, frowning. They wince and apologize. You take a breath to calm yourself and think instead of just jackrabbiting into an 'I'm-right-you're-wrong'.  
"Nah. Maybe it's not. I just know some days, I don't want to talk. It doesn't feel right. I have the words, but opening my mouth to say them just isn't...natural. And there are the times where I'm scared to talk, or I don't want to - communicate, let alone talk. Maybe it's not the same. But I think it's probably similar enough to count." You stick out your tongue and cautiously boop them on the nose. They wrinkle their nose at you in mock-discontent, but clear remorse radiates off them.  
* _Sorry_ , they repeat. You frown, moving away from the wall (this involves scootching past them, because they're still in front of you) so that you can flop down on your back. You bounce satisfyingly, and learn that they can squeak in that not-talk of theirs. Heh.  
"What'chu on'bout, kid? 'S all good. You didn't do nothin wrong. If anything, I shouldn't've gotten so testy over it. Kind of a weird reaction from me, actually." You frown. It was sort of an out-of-nowhere irritation. You shrug, letting it go.  
"Whatever. Anyway, so how do you get a name like Frisk? That's a pretty cool name, by the way. Most people ain't got one as unique as mine." They start.  
* _Oh! What_ is _your name?_ You sit up, eyeing them.  
"Well. There's a funny thing about that." You pause, considering.  
"I don't really like people using my name. Gonna _wear it out_." You flop back own so you don't have to see their expression.  
"Listen, I, uh, know it sounds kinda silly, but...people misuse my name all the time. That's why I don't...feel like I should give it out here. Maybe come up with a new one. That can be _their_ name for me. 'Cause my name, it's _my_ name. I don't want people using it badly, or...just. Y'know? Does that make any sense?" You risk a glance up at them.  
They're oddly stonelike, face unreadable.  
* _...Why? Do you not trust me with it?_ They sound honestly upset about it. You sit up quickly, turning.  
"Oh, no, _honey_ -" you almost put a hand on their shoulder before realizing you barely know this person. Why are you so...well, personable, right now? (Probably because they're a kid. Kids are... _different_ than adults. Though they're on the line, maybe twelve or so.)   
"'S not what I meant. I was gonna give you my name, but ask that you not use it...just in general. When you're mad, when it's somethin stupid. I dunno. If you think it's a bad use of it, just use my other name. That was all. 'Course I trust you, kiddo." You ruffle their hair, and they catch your wrist in both of theirs playfully, smiling. You retract your hand, doing the same. You lean in.  
"It's a secret, though. Don't tell anybody." Your eyes half-sparkle with mischeif. Theirs do fully as they nod. You whisper your name to them.  
They've never heard it before, and you grin.  
"Yeah, I know. Totes cool, right?" The smile slips.  
"Really, though. I'd kind of, uh...like to think. Or. Maybe _not_ think. Maybe bury my face in a blanket and pretend I'm ever going to see my family again?" Your voice hitches a bit at the end. Frisk hugs you, then leaves quickly.  
The abruptness startles you. You thought you'd have to convince them. (There's a slight feeling of deja vu, but you shake it off. You have enough variables to comb through right now without _that_ mumbo jumbo.)  
...breathe.  
Right.


	5. In Which the Title Becomes Null

You flop facefirst into the bed.

So, you're gonna need to find a place to live. Somehow not get murdered for your SOUL. Get a job, while managing the previous one.

Never see your family again (a blessing and a curse) and  _ how will they do without you?!  _ Oh, god. Who'll keep your mom from overdoing it (not that she can or  _ will  _ listen to you half the time)? The rats. Oh, gods, your rats.  _ The dog _ . You'll never see them again.

Your friends - everyone will think you're -

-is there internet? Even if there's a magical barrier keeping everyone  _ in _ , it seems just as likely it wouldn't automatically cause the Underground to be in effectual Airplane Mode. And if you can get a message to them...

...if you could get a message to  _ them _ , you could get a message to the government. It'd take some finagling, as well as  _ proof _ (and chances are high enough that they'd think it was some kind of tampered video or picture or what-have-you, but there are people that can tell that sort of thing) that monsters exist. And it would take forever and a half for them to decide, but they could send down someone who's dying, anyway (someone who volunteered) and then when they  _ did  _ die, their SOUL could be used on the barrier.

...Wow, a lot hinging on whether there's an internet connection or not. And a million other things.  Or - even if there isn't internet - a robot of some sort could be built (presumably; you don't know too much about robotics, but figure it's possible, though that it'd take a while) to carry an SOS with that information (because nothing with a SOUL can pass through the barrier, but robots don't  _ have  _ SOULS - at least, you've never heard of one that did.) and the coordinates, and...

...But what's their technology like? Is there even someone who  _ could  _ make a robot like that? Is there a way to connect to the internet even if it's not blocked by the barrier?

Longshots. All of them. And even if they were possible, you've always been a thinker, not a doer. Who would even believe you, anyway? 

And if the government learns about monsters, what will happen to them? What about the  _ citizens _ ? 

....you don't trust that monsters would be welcome aboveground, regardless of  _ anything _ , because, well, they look different. If humans can't tolerate people with different levels of melanin, what are the odds they'll open people with fangs and beaks and claws? 

(Presumably - the only monster you've met is the woman. Are all monsters goatlike? You really doubt it, but you don't know.)

...In any case, you're just sitting here. You slide off the bed to pace.  _ Keep moving _ . Keep moving, because if you stop you may not ever start again.

Would monsters have thought of this already? How long have they been underground? Why hasn't anyone  _ found  _ them yet? Is it a conspiracy?

Too many unknown variables. Maybe the monsters have tried reaching out before and people thought it was a prank - or know it  _ isn't _ , but covered it up. Unlikely. Would they reach out for help from the race that damned them? 

Would they be  _ willing  _ to? You probably wouldn't. (But if it's been such a long time...) Wounds fester when they can't heal. They've been trapped in a living tomb for gods know how long. Why hasn't anyone found them yet? If it only takes seven SOULs, why aren't they free? If the first six have been killed, why hasn't Frisk (why haven't you?)

You groan, just to let off some of the tension. You're missing pieces. You need more information if you're going to plan  _ anything _ , and first off is whether the monsters  _ should  _ be brought back up to the surface.

The immediate answer is yes. Even if they have some terrifying, dangerous power, it's not like they can help it. It doesn't make them bad people (though it's quite likely that, like humans, there  _ are  _ bad monsters. It just wouldn't make sense for there not to be.) - and they must be able to use it on each  _ other _ , too. So there must be some kind of police to keep people from getting too rowdy.

It's not really any different from a human with a gun.

Well, okay, it's a lot different, but not in the ways that matter. For those intents and purposes, it's the same. Now, whether it's like having a  _ pistol  _ or a  _ grenade-launcher _ ...

So, yes. Humans imprisoned them down here wrongfully. (But you've only heard her side of the story - you haven't heard the human's side.)

And you're not going to. Monsters have been relegated to myth. (You wonder how many of the stories have actually happened. It's exciting. Though, monsters are usually the bad guys, which is kind of sad.) Even if they  _ did  _ do something terrible (but what could they do that's worse than what humans  _ have  _ done, to each other, to the planet?) it's been...

...a long time. And the first monster you met saved you from dying and then gave you pie, after promising she wouldn't hurt you. Monsters don't deserve to rot in the dark.

The next piece: What's magic like? Can humans learn it, or is it only hybrids? From her story, you would guess the latter. How do you even know if..? You shake your head. If you weren't human, you'd know it. (How?  _ Would  _ you?)

You need a break from this. Taking a deep breath, you glance toward the door. 

And then you dance to the music in your head. What if you never hear these songs again..?

_ Everybody talks too much _ . You agree wholeheartedly, boogying until the song ends. By the end, you're smiling. It's a patchy mix of the song - there are pieces you don't remember, and lines repeat - but it's good, anyway.

By the end of it, your heart is pounding a little, and you feel a lot lighter. You sink onto the edge of the bed, listening to your pulse drumming in your ears. Your situation comes to mind again, and the Wall appears in your mind, looming and lifeless and imposing. You wince. You have to find out what's going to happen...but you could just stay here...

..and be miserable. No, none of that. No, no, no. You don't have time to wallow. You need to...ask questions...

You pace again, thoughts running you in circles. Your mind is numb and colorless, dark. It fuzzes into nothing, staticky and anxious, as a self-defense mechanism. You pace faster.

You'll have nowhere to go. You  _ have  _ nowhere to go. Where can you go? You don't know anywhere down here. Don't have a way to pay for it if you did. How will you get a job? What could  _ you  _ do that monsters with  _ magic  _ can't already do? Then again, you don't know what magic does, specifically.

Breathe. You grab the edge of the bed to anchor yourself, sit down before you wear yourself out from working yourself up.

Breathe. Just breathe for a little bit. (You do.)

You'll have to ask. You don't want her to feel pressured (static crackles and the wall looms closer threateningly)

Ask...maybe she'll bring it up, and you won't have to. Oh, goodness. What if she let you stay here? You would feel terrible and guilty. How are you supposed to repay her for that if she does? You can't cook like this. You hate cleaning, and frankly it  _ also  _ seems like a bad idea. The only useful skill you really have that you like is gardening. (You can sing, too, but that's not really  _ useful _ , just fun.) And you're not too confident about that, either.

Great. Greatgreatgreat.

Oooh, it's gonna be one of those days where it feels like nothing's going right.

You need to get out of your head. You need very badly to get out of your head; maybe you should go be social. You tend  _ not  _ to, but this is a special circumstance.

You're about to stand when there's a knock on the door and you're so startled you sit back down.

"Y-yes?"

"My child, I was wondering if you would like to accompany me outside? If not, that is perfectly fine." She's very non-pushy.

"O-oh! I was just thinking of coming out for company. Heh...um, yes, if you don't mind me joining you." You hear a smile.

"Of course not. Are you ready now?" You nod, then realize she can't see it and tell her you are.

She leads you out of the hallway and to the left - the recess by the stairs  _ is  _ a door, apparently the one to...outside.

Insomuch as you can go outside underground.

"I am afraid there is not much natural light in the Underground. Much of our light comes from magic." That's one use.

You can't tell what she's doing, but aren't sure if it would be nosy to ask, so you put it aside for now. She kneels, and your curiosity overcomes you.

"If I can ask, what are you doing?"

"You may ask me anything, my child. I am planting sunflowers."

"Oh." You blink. Sunflowers are lovely. The words are out of your mouth before you can think them through.

"Can I help?" Halfway through the sentence you realize.

"Oh! Um, nevermind, I'd probably be in the way -"

"Nonsense!" She decries cheerfully, sounding honestly pleased.

"I would love help. Frisk dislikes staying still long enough to do something as simple as gardening." She chuckles regally.

"They're a very active young one." You 'feel' your way along the edges of the plantbed (the soil is good; soft and moist and with plenty of good things for plants, though it's not quite  _ rich _ ), then move along outside it to join her.

"You are learning quickly." You swallow, unsure how to respond.

"Uh...yeah. I guess. I used to use it a lot when I was younger. I really haven't used it in years, though. And it's a lot... _ clearer _ , than I remember. Might be because I never  _ had  _ to use it, so I'm more focused, though." You shrug. She hands you a pair of gloves.

"Oh! No thank you. I like to work with my hands." You wiggle your fingers, grinning at her genuinely without showing any teeth.

"I like to get my hands dirty, y'know? Feel the soil. Plus, it's a lot harder to be gentle with the plants when you can't feel them." Her demeanor stiffens for a moment, before she exhales, chuckling slightly.

"You remind me of someone I used to know. He was also very fond of plants. I admit, I...picked up much of what I know of botany from him." There's old anger and what you think might be grief (though you aren't sure) in her voice. You nod, cautiously. You aren't gonna poke that. She exhales the tension out of her shoulders, forcing a smile.

"But he is not here. And it is time to plant the sunflowers."

"Make a whole no deeper than an inch, then place the seedlings inside. There should be about six inches between plants." She instructs. You nod in understanding, locate the baby plants.

"Where do you want me to start? From in out, so we don't have to climb over them?" She smiles.

"That is an excellent idea." You smile back. 

You enjoy the work; you're careful with the sprouts, delicate little things - some of them still have the seedshell hanging off a leaf, like a hat. They're dicotyledons (not that you remember the exact word, try as you might.) 

The two of you work quietly for a bit, enjoying the new life springing up between your fingers - they hum with it, potential for growth and...

"You may stay here, you know." She tells you quietly. You're startled so badly you crush the plant you're holding.

"Oh-oh no oh no oh no I'm  _ so sorry  _ little one!" You're almost crying.

"Oh - oh, dear, it's alright." You're shaking your head.

"Here, let me see." Your mouth is pressed in a line. You open your hand so she can see the little one. She tips your hand so it falls into hers. 

"Watch." Silvery-green shimmies up through the gentle purple of her composure, a tendril circling the small plant, until it closes in and sinks into it. 

Crushed fibers expand, unnaturally inverted pushing out healthily. You stare, amazed.

She smiles, gently putting the plant back into your hand.

"There. Better, see?" You nod absently, staring at and prodding the sapling with your own mag- examining the seedling. It's fuddled at having been nearly killed, but is fine, now. Stressed, but fine. She smiles gently.

"Why don't we put that one in your room? You can watch over it." You nod, cradling it to your chest (you would have gotten over it quickly if it had died - it happens - but the spike of emotion at the moment had been strong and not unusual.). It senses your intent and hums in response, happy at the (temporary) spike of endorphins you exude.

It'll die at the end of the season, though, you're pretty sure. That makes you sad. You smile anyway in thanks.

"Here - we'll set it aside." You carefully set it down where she indicates, on a cleared section of paper towel. It's miffed not to be planted like the others are being, but you inform it silently that it will be soon. It just has to be a little patient. It mutters consideringly at this, but is complacent.

You're letting your - no, no you aren't.

You've been able to hear plants since you were a child (when you listen, that is.). It's not your imagination. If  _ other  _ people are deaf, that's  _ their  _ problem.

You're more than a little embarrassed about how upset you got in front of her - you probably looked pitiful. She hums.

"I did not think humans could hear plants. Most monsters cannot - or will not, rather. They do not always have interesting things to say." You're responding before you can think to stop yourself.

"Oh, no, they're  _ fascinating _ . There's just a  _ feeling  _ about them - even when they don't have anything to  _ tell  _ you, per se, they're very good conversationalists. And they're very good at listening, or at least not hogging the conversation. I could learn a lot from them," you joke, then you realize you just told her you talk to plants. Great.

She casts you an amused sideways glance as though hearing your chagrin.

You return to planting. She does the same.

"And yet magic does not exist," she says teasingly. You wind to a halt, this time not destroying any plants - you hadn't picked up another yet. You swallow.

"Well, um..." She laughs, not unkindly.

"I  _ kid _ , my child." You had been about to restart what you were doing, but you stop all over again. Was that...

"How  _ childish _ ," you quip back, crossing your fingers mentally. You're rewarded with a bray of laughter that's still somehow dignified, and your mouth bows upward in a smile. 

"How could I be so  _ infantile! _ " She bleats, and you bark a laugh, which turns into chuckles.

"Well, at least you're a  _ spring chicken _ ." Ehhh, bit of a stretch. She laughs like it's the best joke ever anyway, and you find your smile slowly growing.

The plants, meanwhile, are waiting to be planted.

(Geez, you got a crochety one. You wonder if it'll  _ stay  _ that way, or if it's just a side effect of nearly being crushed to death. It could go either way, really.) 

"I am a  _ crowing  _ example of good health!" You snerf good-naturedly, but can't think of any besides 'chick' jokes, which you think would be rude.

"I cede. I got nothin on you," you compliment admiringly.She chuckles. 

"I have much practice. I have a friend behind a door. We tell jokes to each other. He is quite the  _ punoisseure _ ," you snerk again. You're actually almost done, if that's all of the plants. 

"Behind a door? Sounds like there's a story behind that," you chuckle. She seems to tense.

"He lives outside of the Ruins," she tells you. Your head tilts.

"Why doesn't he just come in to talk?" She sighs.

"My child, there is much work to be done here." You check.

"Is there? I thought we were almost done. Are there more flowers?" You ask hopefully. She relaxes, just a little.

"Not yet. I will have to get more; the grower didn't have the kind I wanted, yet. We still have to water them, however!" She smiles and stands.

"I do not require your help for this part; you may go back inside, if you wish." You frown a bit. She's brushing you off.

If it didn't feel like she was trying to  _ hide  _ something from you (something important) you would leave it be. If it was something personal, you would leave it be.

"What's beyond the Ruins? Why don't you want to talk about it?" She closes her eyes, smile strained.

"I believe Frisk is coloring. Why don't you ask them to show you where the bathroom is?" An odd non-sequitor. You're like a dog with a bone.

"Why don't you want me to know what's outside the Ruins? Is it something dangerous? I'm not a kid; if it's dangerous, I just won't  _ go  _ there." Her smile tightens further.

"Please, I have work to do." You cross your arms and stay where you are, silently disagreeing with her. She gives off a motherly aura that almost has you backing down, but this is clearly important. You raise your chin.

After a few seconds, she sighs.

"Please stay here." She hurries off. You have a bad feeling.

Her legs are much longer than yours. By the time you're inside, you see her rapidly descending the stairs.

"Stay upstairs!" She almost barks at you.

_ No _ . You're not going to be lied to. If you don't find out now, she'll destroy or hide whatever it is!

You follow her almost at a run. She's partway down a long purple hallway.

"Please, I am doing this for your own good!" You remain silent. She turns and hurries onward. You follow, catching up to her as she nears a corner.

"Go back upstairs!" She rounds the corner with you steps behind, and there's a  _ door _ . A really big one.

It is also purple. (There's a strange symbol that seems familiar on the front of it, but you can't make it out too well without concentrating, and your attention is on more important things.)

She turns to face you.

"My child, go back upstairs. This is your final warning." You frown at her.

"I am not a child. I am an adult, and I want to know what it is that you're so keen on hiding from me. I can make my own decisions." She slumps slightly before her shoulders push up again.

"I am  _ centuries  _ older than you. I know best! Leave!" She indicates the way you came. You waver a bit, but stay.

Her mouth is pressed in a firm line.

"Fine. Then prove it to me! Prove to me you are strong enough to survive!"

"What does that have to do with -" there's a feeling like when you go  _ walking _ , but more  solid . There's a  pull and then

everything goes dark . The lights of the world flicker in and out, and then the world is dark; the only light (the only thing you can  _ see _ , can  _ sense _ , at all) is the woman. She has no color, only black and white. It makes no sense.

You aren't in your body. Instead you're in...

"That is your SOUL. The culmination of your being. If you leave this place, others will try to steal it from you to break the Barrier. Show me you have what it takes to survive!" A wave of white comes toward you, and instinctively you dodge. She stares you down.

You can't really stare her down like this; you're pretty sure you don't have eyes like this.

"I  _ don't know what you're talking about!  _ I'm not  _ trying  _ to go anywhere! I'm well and truly trapped Underground, apparently. I get it." You dodge more...it's  _ hot _ . One almost scalds you. You dodge more as they rain down - sideways? Direction seems to have little meaning here - on you.

There's a pattern to them - they're all dodgeable, but you have to pay attention to the pattern. You can't  _ see  _ them, but  _ sensing  _ them is quite easy, given that they're  _ literally made of energy _ .

"Please, I don't want to fight you!" You call, frightened. She stares over you authoritarianly. as the rain of fire ends. Something swells in you that is definitely not kindness.

You are filled with SPITE.

"Fine," you spit at her. You feel...something. (You don't know how to use it, yet - you can't quite  _ reach  _ it, yet.) 

"I thought you wanted to protect me!" You yell at her. Her facade cracks, just for a moment, into what might be desperation. You don't know what else to call it. 

She sends another rain of fire at you, but the pattern is different-harder to dodge - they swing back and forth as they fall, and you think you can get around them easily - but they suddenly stop falling  _ so  _ far, and then you're hit - it feels like the breath's been knocked out of you and someone just told you you failed a test all at once, and you're hit a few more times within a second, but they don't damage you.

Then the 'loop' widens again, and you're shakenly moving up to avoid more fire. It tightens again, and you're not quick enough to avoid the 'noose' - you're burned, winded and not feelin too good. It loosens, and then the rain stops.

"You're going...to  _ kill  _ me.." You tell her between gasps. She finally looks down at you, and her eyes widen in shock as she gasps, hand (paw?) raised to her heart.

"My child!" But then her expression hardens again, though the glint of pain is easy enough to distinguish in her eyes.

"Go upstairs," she orders you.

Stubbornness rears it's head again.

You  _ hate  _ being told what to do. She's hiding something from you.

" _ No _ ," you grit out through clenched teeth.

You hear running feet, small and fast.  _ Frisk _ . Images of burns flash through your mind -

"Frisk, go! Go upstairs, she's dangerous-" You're turned to face them  - you don't see the fire, only hear her gasp and then you're  _ burning _ , lungs not taking in enough breath as you're hit once, twice, three times - and the world goes dark in a much fuller way.


	6. Rewriting this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See the chapter for further detail.

I'm rewriting this story because, re-reading it, it's  _horrifying_. For some reason, a few people liked my terrible writing, so I'll be leaving this version up, albeit with a different title. The first chapter of the new version should be out as soon as I've proof-read it over, and I hope to have it up by tonight, but if not, I'm having my wisdom teeth removed tomorrow, so it may not be up until this weekend. I hope everyone who's read my stories so far have enjoyed them, and feel free to send asks, questions, comments, and concerns in messenger (Archive has a messenger, doesn't it?) or in the comments!

Alternatively, if you leave a request and I find it interesting, I'll do my best with it!

That is all.

-NSFW


End file.
